Keeping the Shadows at Bay
by kungfuwaynewho
Summary: A different take on events from the end of Season Two.
1. Keeping the Shadows at Bay

Keeping the Shadows at Bay

Delenn was standing very close, just looking up at him, waiting for an answer. Sheridan's first instinct was to tell her no. Further, to have her locked up in her quarters until the crisis was over, one way or another; then he would be sure that she'd be safe. It was the fact that the thought even occurred to him that prompted him to finally give in her to request. He raised his hand to open a line on his link.

"I'll tell security to let you through."

She put her hand over his. "Thank you." He didn't want to do this. "Don't look away, Captain. All life is transitory. A dream. We all come together in the same place, at the end of time. If I don't see you again here…" Delenn brought her fingertips up to his cheek, the barest of touches. "I will see you in a little while, in the place where no shadows fall." She turned away from him then, calmly preparing to walk to her own death. The idea that this could be their last meeting was something he decided that he would not consider, not even for a moment.

"Delenn?" She spun back around, and the urge to lock her up struck him again. "When I do see you again...call me John?" She smiled, more with her eyes than her lips, and left his quarters. Sheridan stood right where he was, feeling as though he'd just been punched in the gut. He'd been ready to spend a sleepless night tossing and turning, worrying about the Markabs, feeling that familiar impotence when something was happening under his command but there was nothing for him to do. Now he knew that there'd be no point even trying to sleep. He grabbed his jacket, tugged it back on, and headed to his office.

xxx

Twenty-four hours since Delenn had left his quarters; she would have gone straight to the isolation chamber, so she would have spent nearly as long confined with the Markabs. Sheridan had tried to read up on Markab biology - more to see how similar they were to Minbari, what the odds were on a disease affecting one spreading to the other - but he just didn't have enough of a background in science and medicine to make heads or tails of what he read. He knew Stephen was working as hard as he could, that he would only distract him, so he stayed out of Medlab. That didn't keep him from pacing down that way every time he had a moment, hoping that this time Stephen would rush out, a smile on his face. _I have the cure!_

"Captain?" Sheridan looked up from the stack of paperwork he wasn't actually reading. Zack Allan in the doorway to his office, and there must have been something on his face because Zack took a step back. Rather than mollify him, the reaction just made Sheridan angry.

"What?"

"There's a bit of a situation down in the Zocalo. I tried to call you on the link..."

"I have it set to only accept priority messages. Whatever the situation is in the Zocalo, it's not a priority. Take care of it, Mr. Allan." He looked back down at his paperwork, the letters swimming about like they were written in an alien alphabet. After a moment, he heard Zack walk away.

Sheridan glowered down at his desk for a moment, then shoved the paperwork aside, a few pieces of paper falling down to the ground in lazy drifts. Stephen wouldn't be able to do it. He was a smart guy, but what they needed was a genius. After a few more days, they'd finally open up the isolation chamber. And they would all be dead. Sheridan would walk through the piles of bodies, looking for her. He would find her, slumped against a wall, eyes closed peacefully almost as if she were only asleep. But her body would be cold, stiff. He would help Stephen put her in a bag, zipping heavy plastic up over her face. Then she would be like all the rest - dead flesh, to be disposed of. Tossed out an airlock to drift in the vacuum of space, eventually tugged into the gravity of a planet or a star, burning up into a meaningless shower of atoms. There was nothing after this life; just a cold, empty vacuum like the one that surrounded him at all times, even now. A life spent in tin cans, a few inches of metal between him and nothingness. He would see her last as he wrapped her in her shroud.

Sheridan just made it into the head, and continued to retch long after he finished voiding the contents of his stomach. What little contents there were; he hadn't been able to eat all day. He sat down on the floor, right next to the toilet, leaning his head back against the wall. Christ, when had he started to feel like this about Delenn? He enjoyed spending time with her, sure. And there had been a few nights after their little dinner date when he'd thought about what it would be like to take her to bed. But he was starting to feel the way he'd felt when he'd gotten the call about the _Icarus_. As though the world he had carefully built, brick by brick, was falling apart.

xxx

The door opened too slow, but at the same time, Sheridan never wanted it to open. As long as it was closed, there was a chance she was still alive. Susan and Stephen seemed excited, hopeful, but Sheridan knew exactly what they would find. Death, nothing more.

Even though he had been expecting it, for a second he didn't know what he was looking at. Then the image resolved itself - corpses. Everywhere; all over the floor, against the walls, in pairs, in groups. Alone. Hard gooseflesh broke out all over his body. A sickly-sweet smell of rot hung in the air. Her body, already decomposing.

Movement up ahead. A few Markab survivors, hanging on. Maybe they would be able to save them. With a sharp feeling of pure spite, Sheridan hoped that they died, too. He made himself look at them. A hallucination, surely; but no, it was definitely Lennier, wet streaks of tears on his cheeks catching the light as he walked toward the door. Delenn on his arm, and she was looking right at him. Sheridan stared at her, dimly aware that someone had asked Lennier a question and that he had answered; he heard nothing, saw nothing, except for Delenn. She was in front of him, pain written on her face.

"John..." she gasped out, bringing her hand to his cheek again. Her fingertips were warm. He pulled her close, and she willingly entered his arms. A soundless wail against his shoulder. Sheridan ground his teeth; he needed to get her out of here, away from this room, away from the smell of thousands of Markabs rotting where they had fallen. Delenn was crying now, her thin body shaking; people were coming into the isolation chamber. People with body bags.

"Come on, let's go," he whispered into her ear. "Delenn. I've got you." She didn't seem to hear him, her fists bunched up in his jacket. Sheridan shifted his hold on her, an arm around her waist, and moved her out the door. By the time they walked down the corridor and to the transport tube, she had stopped crying. Docile, allowing herself to be led. "Green Two," he told the tube.

"No. Green Four." Her voice was still choked with tears.

"I want you to go to Medlab."

"No." That was all. A shadow of steel in her voice; he was glad to hear it. The tube ride didn't take long, and then they walked to her quarters. Sheridan wondered if he was seeing the work of Providence; they didn't pass another soul on the way. He knew Delenn would find it shameful to be seen like this. He hoped she didn't hold it against him later.

She typed in her access code with fingers that were mostly steady, and he took her inside, loathe to let her go. She didn't seem to mind, though, so he kept his arm around her. They stood in the nearly dark room; a light on in the kitchen, another in her bedroom, no sound but her breathing, finally leveling out.

"Can I get you something to eat?" he asked, aware for the first time of how thin she was. He hadn't noticed before, with her layers of robes, the broad shoulder caps. A brilliant idea occurred to him; he would take her home, to Earth, and his mom would cook up wonderful fattening things - fried turkey and stuffing sandwiches, cheesy lasagna that left puddles of orange grease on the plate, custard pies buckling under the weight of piles of whipped cream. He would just sit and feed her. He would tie her down first if he had to.

But she was shaking her head against him, her hair tickling his jaw. "I'm not hungry." Sheridan wanted to argue with her, but she turned her head and rested it against his shoulder. He could smell her. Death; in her clothes, in her hair. Under that, her sweat. Not particularly unpleasant on its own, but mingled with the scent of corruption it made for a pretty foul odor. Now that he noticed it, he found it nearly overpowering.

"How about a nice hot shower?" She nodded at that, and he walked her into her bedroom, to the head on the opposite side. He finally released her, taking a step back, and she spun back around to face him. Terror on her face; not just worry, or fear, but terror. Sheridan put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing. "I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere. Okay?" Her eyes were still wide, she still looked stricken, but she nodded slowly. He brought a hand up to her face, ran his thumb over her cheekbone. "I'll be right here." He wanted to kiss her, but instead he stepped back, not looking away. She watched him closely, as though he might disappear right in front of her eyes.

Sheridan pulled her bedroom doors shut, then sat down on her couch. He slumped back into the cushions, and let out the breath he'd been holding since she'd walked out of his quarters. He hadn't realized just how much he had expected her to be dead, and the reality of her survival was just now registering as a fact. She was alive. He wanted to do more than just kiss her; he wanted to make love to her, cover her body with his own. Claim her. A part of his brain far removed from conscious thought was growling at him, telling him that he needed to march right back into that room, grab her, rip off her clothes, and fuck her until she knew that she belonged to him.

Sheridan stood, shook himself. That was the absolute last thing she needed, for him to start acting like a caveman. He paced, although everyone's quarters were just too small to get in a good pace. He stopped and listened, looking all around as though staring would help him hear better. What had he heard? Then Sheridan realized it was what he hadn't heard; the shower had never come on. No sound of water, only silence. He walked up to her bedroom doors, put his ear against them. Nothing.

"Delenn?" No answer. His heart started hammering, his hands curled into fists at his sides as adrenaline poured into his bloodstream. She had been infected. She was unconscious (_or dead, she might already be dead_) in the next room, lying on the floor in a heap while he'd been ten feet away, thinking about fucking her.

He flung her bedroom doors open, but she was nowhere to be seen. He was cold, he was cold all over. Walking to the head, the room a hundred feet long. He expected it to be locked, he would have to call down security, but it swung open as he stepped in front of it. All he could see was her shower ahead of him, empty and dry. Sheridan took one step forward, just inside the threshold.

Delenn stood to his left, in front of her sink. Robes puddled around her feet. She had a slip on, exposing her arms - bone white, too thin. She was staring down at her hands, and her hair obscured her face. For half a second, Sheridan was afraid of her.

"Delenn?" She turned to look at him, and he could tell that for a heartbeat she didn't even recognize him. Then she seemed to come back to herself, and she looked around, remembering where she was. Sheridan smoothed her hair back from her face, any caveman urges gone as though they'd never been there. He just wanted to take care of her. "Dim lights to ten percent," he told the room, and the lights obliged. He knelt, helped her slip off her shoes, then slid her stockings down and off her legs. Her skin was so smooth, and he ran his hands back up her calves as he stood. He lifted off her slip - there was a band of tight elastic near the top to support her breasts, and she sucked in a gasp that he couldn't quite decipher - startled? uncomfortable? - as he hooked his thumbs underneath it to pull it off. Then she was naked in front of him, except for a pair of panties that he ignored for the time being. She watched as he took off his own clothes, reaching a hand out and putting it over his heart. He finished undressing her, turned on the water, and led her into the shower with him.

Sheridan washed her hair, her body. He didn't like the way he could feel the knobs of her spine, her shoulder blades jutting out, the xylophone expanse of her ribs. But her breasts were full in his hands, there was a slight curve to her stomach that he couldn't stop running his fingers over, and he realized that she was just that slender - not starving, not sick. He finished rinsing her off, then just held her under the warm spray, running his hands up and down her back.

The light on the shower head blinked yellow. One minute of hot water left. He turned it off, groped outside for a towel. Delenn hooked her arms around his neck, whispering into his ear. "Stay. Please." He nodded.

xxx

He was never going to be able to fall asleep on this bed, but that was okay. He'd rather concentrate on holding Delenn, watching her, making sure she was safe. He'd toweled her off, brushed and dried her hair, helped her into a silky black nightgown. Now she was curled up against him, her head on his shoulder, running a hand ceaselessly up and down his chest.

"You should try and get some sleep," he murmured into her hair, squeezing her close. She didn't say anything, and Sheridan thought she hadn't heard him.

"I watched them all die," she finally said. "One after another. And there was nothing I could do." She let out a long, shuddery breath, but she didn't start crying again. Sheridan wished she would; better to let it out. He didn't want her to run it over and over again through her mind, worrying about it, wishing she could have done something else. She had already done enough.

"I'm sorry," he said, wanting to give her something other than hollow words.

"At the end, after the last had died, and we were just waiting, I became sure that no one would come for us. That the isolation had not worked. While we waited in the dark, the station died, a quarter million corpses, Lennier and I the only ones left. I was sure that you...that you..." She couldn't finish, gasping out tearless sobs against his shoulder. Sheridan rolled them to their sides, wrapped his arms around her as tight as he could.

"It's okay. It's okay, everything's okay. I've got you, honey. It's okay. It's all over." A litany of reassurance that she didn't hear. The storm was upon her, and he could do nothing but help her weather it. He didn't know how long he held her, how long she cried in his arms, but finally the last of the grief and pain and worry poured out. She rested against him, limp, and it was agony to let her go long enough to find some tissues so she could blow her nose. While she did that, he soaked a washcloth in hot water, then came back and washed the tears from her face. Sheridan lay down, gathered her back up; she was asleep in less than a minute. He meant to keep a vigil, but succumbed himself. There were no dreams.

xxx

Morning. It had been so long since he'd awakened with a warm, female body against his own that for a little bit - still wrapped in sleepy dream logic - Sheridan was sure that Anna was here, that the last three years had been a nightmare he'd finally awakened from. It wasn't the first time he'd felt like that. It _was _the first time he didn't feel crushed by the same old despair as he remembered that she was dead and gone. Delenn was spooned up in front of him, his body molded to hers. She was still asleep. Long, steady breaths. Was it wrong to feel a moment of gladness that all of this had happened? Otherwise he would never have had such a morning, never had the opportunity to hold her like this, listen to her breathing, feel her exquisite warmth.

Finally she stirred in his arms, and he leaned back to let her roll onto her back, blink up at him. "Hi," he said, smiling for the first time in what felt like a year. She closed her eyes, bringing a hand up to his face. She missed his cheek, got his nose and mouth. He chuckled against her palm as she said something that vaguely resembled _good morning_, and her hand flopped down to his chest. She burrowed closer to him, pressing her face into his shoulder. "Do you want to just stay here all day?" She nodded.

Sheridan didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think about anything other than this bed, this woman dozing in his arms, but he knew it was something he was going to have to confront sooner or later. What would happen now? Would they go back to a purely professional relationship, Captain and Ambassador? Could they in good conscience do anything else? But he wanted this, wanted to wake up beside her in the morning and go to sleep beside her at night. He wanted her.

Her Babcom chimed on, listing the messages that had come in for her during the night. Sheridan sat up, not too much trouble since he was already halfway there - at some point he'd ask her why the hell her bed was like this. Delenn sat up herself, rubbing her eyes. Sheridan couldn't quite let her go completely; he kept a hand on her back, between her shoulders. He waited for her to make the first move.

"What are you going to do today?" she asked, her accent thicker than usual. He moved her hair away from her face, gently combed his fingers through it. God, how he wanted her.

"I don't know. It's going to be a busy day. A busy couple days." She nodded, then turned to look at him.

"Thank you."

He shook his head. "You don't have to thank me." She brought her fingertips up to his face again, finally resting them over his mouth. She replaced them with her lips, and Sheridan gratefully kissed her back. He could hear his link beeping in the head, but he ignored it, concentrating instead on telling her how much she meant to him, sure she would understand what he was saying with the kiss. He finally pulled back, just enough to see her.

"I have to go," he said, and the look of disappointment on her face was almost enough to make him change his mind.

"I'll see you tonight?" He wondered how she could even ask. He kissed her in answer, then tore himself away to gather up his uniform. She was still in bed when he came out of the head, and he leaned down to kiss her again, feeling like an addict needing one more hit.

"You stay here today. Rest." She nodded, a wan smile on her face. Sheridan tucked the covers up over her shoulders and made himself walk away. It was easier than he'd thought; he knew he was going to come back to her at the end of the day.


	2. Before the Inquisition

Before the Inquisition

The last month had been pretty great, all things considered. The same old shit most of the time - fights and battles and wars, and that wasn't even counting what was going on between the Narn and Centauri. The business with Talia had been rough on all of them, but especially Ivanova; Sheridan wasn't quite able to figure out why that was. He hadn't known they were that good of friends. But before each day started and after each day finished, and a few lucky times in between, he had time alone with Delenn, and that made every day a good day in his book.

They ended up never having an actual conversation about it. That first day after the Markabs died, that long day spent putting out one fire after another, he had returned to her quarters to spend the night again. The idea that he wouldn't have stopped to see her was absurd; the idea that he would have stopped to see her and then gone back to his own quarters to sleep alone was even more ludicrous. She had greeted him with a kiss, and Sheridan knew at that moment that whatever opportunity he might have had to turn back vanished as he stepped into her arms.

There had been lots of kissing since then. Sometimes he felt like one of the old explorers, jumping off a boat into the surf, making his way up the beach, and planting his flag. _I claim this woman's lips in the name of John Sheridan._ They had first base down to a science. Sleepy kisses in the morning. Pecks on the cheek as they left for work. Hurried, secret kisses in the corridors before Council meetings. Long, languid kisses on the couch at the end of the day. Playful kisses when she teased him for leaving his link in her quarters again. Sweet kisses after she confessed that the last time she'd been kissed had been before the war, and all she'd been able to think about at the time was what she was supposed to do with her hands. Passionate kisses when his hormones and that damned caveman in the back of his brain mounted a protest.

He'd gotten to second base once, when he'd managed to get one of his thighs between hers at just the right angle to override her moral principles, and she'd let him feel her up for five glorious minutes. Sheridan wasn't in any huge hurry, though he didn't want to wank in the shower all by himself every morning for too terribly much longer. (She'd come into the bathroom a few mornings ago when he'd been about three strokes from climax, and he'd had a horrible flashback of _Jesus Christ, Mom, why can't you knock!_ Which really wasn't the reaction to have when your girlfriend caught you jerking off. Though he didn't think she realized that was what he was doing. If she had, he'd need to remember never to play poker with her.) Again, not anything they'd talked about. He was happy to let her set the pace, and right now she seemed content with lots and lots of kissing and little else.

Making dinner. Sheridan was an expert at making dinner. Tonight was the first of three nights in his quarters, so he was already in a good mood, knowing he'd get a solid night's sleep in his own bed. Flat and soft with actual pillows. He didn't understand why Delenn sometimes grumbled when she got in; it didn't matter how many times he explained to her that she wasn't going to _die_, she still started off propping herself up with an extra pillow.

The door slid open. She was home. Sheridan looked up from the plates he was carefully dripping little dots of something that was too fancy to be called gravy onto. She looked tired; he could see it in the set of her shoulders, the look on her face. A wave of affection for her rolled over him.

"John," she said, voice flat. She was not asking how his day was; she was not saying hello; she was not announcing her presence. She was giving him an order. Sheridan dutifully put down the little gravy container and spoon and went to her, drawing her close for a kiss. Kiss given, he tried to pull back, but Delenn locked her arms around his neck. _I'm making dinner, Delenn_, he attempted to say, but it was tough to speak with her tongue in his mouth. She pressed her body against his, and he soaked in the sensation for a few heartbeats before finally, gently disengaging.

"Hey. You okay?"

"Fine." She kissed his chin, up his jaw to his ear, devious fingers slipping down his sides to tug his shirt out of his pants. She sucked his earlobe into her mouth at the same time she slid her hands under his shirt - so warm against his skin - and pulled him securely back against her. _Hello? Can I come out now?_ his penis asked, and Sheridan carefully backed away again. At the rate she was going, he'd have her up on the table in about ten minutes, and he didn't think that was her plan.

"I'm trying to make dinner."

She looked up at him with long-suffering patience, as though they'd been married for forty years and she'd had to deal with his bullshit every single day. "You don't make dinner. You remove already prepared food from containers you purchase and arrange it on plates."

"Yeah, and I have to make it look pretty and keep it warm." He headed back into the kitchenette, finishing his task. Snuck a glance her way as he hunted down clean silverware. Delenn was watching him with dark eyes, perched on the edge of her chair. She wasn't watching his face, though; her eyes swept up and down his body with a definite predatory gleam. Sheridan did some quick math - she'd had her period two weeks ago. (He hadn't even known she had periods, and she had explained some of the physical changes she'd gone through after her transformation with a certain clinical lack of embarrassment he'd found endearing. He supposed he'd find it less endearing the first time she made him run down to Red Sector to buy her whatever it was she used.) He wasn't an expert on female biology by any means, but he knew that meant it was around the time for her to ovulate.

Well, well. Delenn was horny. Would wonders never cease?

Sheridan brought over their plates, glasses of water, thinking of how best to spin this to his advantage. Second base, sure. Third base? Third base sounded like a perfectly wonderful way to spend the evening. She would have to agree. He gave Delenn a little extra something in his smile as he sat across from her - surely he wasn't imagining the slight flush in her cheeks?

"So how was your day?" he asked, digging in. She shrugged, a little too nonchalant.

"Routine. Though it will not be so tomorrow. You should not stay awake for me."

"Late meetings?"

Delenn never played with her food, never pushed it around on her plate like she was doing right now. "There is something I must do for Kosh." She was definitely avoiding his eye. She had to do something for Kosh - Sheridan didn't like the way his hackles raised at that.

"Oh?" Perfectly casual, almost uninterested.

"Nothing you need concern yourself about." But he could tell from her whole demeanor that it _was _something he needed to be concerned about. Something was up. Delenn was very good at subterfuge, at obfuscation, at prevarication. She was not good at straight-up lying, and what she was doing now was very, very close to lying, he could tell. They ate in silence, and Sheridan decided that whatever it was she had to do tomorrow, she was worried about it, and had wanted comfort. Thus the uncharacteristic tongue action and mild groping. He knew it would do no good to argue with her - if she thought she had to do something for Kosh (_what could that possibly mean?_), then that's what she was going to do, and nothing he could say would change her mind. He decided that he could do the comfort thing. He would be the king of the comfort thing.

Dishes, picking up, fifteen minutes of necessary paperwork, changing into pajamas. By the time he was done, Delenn was already in one of her nightgowns, in the head, doing mysterious feminine things. Sheridan lit a few candles, dug out some lotion from his dresser, pulled back the covers and got everything arranged. She came out with a look on her face - she was confused, and he could tell she wasn't sure if she liked it.

"Take your nightgown off, lie down on your stomach." She gave him a different look at that. A _look_, as it were. "Pull the sheet up to your waist. Besides, it's nothing I haven't already seen." She arched one of her nonexistent brows, then started pulling off her nightgown. Sheridan turned, busied himself with the candles on top of his dresser. They had shared a big wet naked shower, but Delenn was still fairly modest, and he didn't want to start this by making her feel awkward and self-conscious.

"All right," she said, and he turned back to a truly beautiful sight. Delenn in his bed, appearing nude for all intents and purposes. Her back soft and pink in the candlelight. He was very interested in the side of her breast, but ignored it for the time being. He grabbed the lotion, climbed up on the bed, and straddled her - a knee on either side of her hips. She grabbed the sheets with a fist, and he smiled down at her back.

"John?"

"It's okay. Relax." He smoothed her hair over to one side, then ran his hand down her spine. She shivered under his touch. He poured some lotion into his hand, warmed it up before he spread it over her back. First, just some nice, gentle rubbing with the palms of his hands. Delenn sighed, and he felt her relax into the mattress. Sheridan decided to start from the top, then work his way down; he used his fingertips to massage the sides of her neck, and was rewarded with a sound he'd never heard from her before. Breathy, a hint of a moan. Then down to the tops of her shoulders, her shoulder blades, down either side of her spine, the small of her back. By the time he was finished, she was limp, and if it weren't for the regular sounds of pleasure she'd made throughout he would think she'd fallen asleep.

Sheridan wanted to keep moving down her body, but tonight wasn't the night to press his luck. So he pulled the sheet up a little bit and started to move off the end of the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"To grab your nightgown," he said, and then Delenn rolled over onto her back. There was nothing to do but take in the view. She looked back at him without any trace of shyness, but no coyness, either.

"Come here." He obeyed, crawling up the bed. Her hands guided him to where she wanted him, and he settled himself carefully on top of her. There was one really nice thing about having no expectations other than kissing - he could concentrate on each kiss as a goal in and of itself, with no other goal in mind. Concentrate on the way she tasted, the way she ran her fingers through his hair; concentrate on the feel of her skin, the rhythm of their tongues moving against each other; concentrate on each perfect moment, the rest of the world falling away.

Sheridan stopped to look at her, wondering what she was thinking. But as always, her gray eyes were inscrutable. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her what was going on, what she had to do tomorrow, when she brought her hand up to his face.

"When two Minbari become close, as we have become close, there are rituals they perform together. They are important steps as we decide what the nature of our relationship will be."

"I already know what I want the nature of our relationship to be."

"And that is why the rituals are important - to make sure that what we want is truly what we want."

"Are you not sure about this?"

"John. Every Minbari couple goes through the rituals. It's important to me."

"Okay." He smiled down at her, kissed her. "If it's important to you, then it's important to me. Are you wanting to start the rituals?"

"We already have." He must have made a face, because she smiled. "When you ate dinner with me, that was the first."

"Delenn," he said with mock surprise and disapproval. She laughed.

"That meal is the beginning of both a romantic relationship and a friendship. I had no designs of seduction, I promise you."

"Mmhmm. So what's next?"

"Next, I must watch you sleep." He waited for her to continue, but she just smiled up at him. She leaned up to kiss him and he pulled back. "John?"

"You're going to watch me sleep?"

"To see your true face."

"And when do I get to watch you sleep?" She shook her head at him. "I want to watch you sleep, too. Fair's fair."

"That is simply the way the ritual has always been. The male sleeps, and the female watches."

"And you want to watch me sleep tonight?" he asked, not sure he liked the idea. She'd said she wanted to see his true face - he was pretty sure the face he made when he slept was open-mouthed, smooshed against a pillow, drooling and snoring. That was not exactly an image he was proud of.

But Delenn wasn't nodding, wasn't smiling. She looked very serious, almost scared. She shook her head. "I want to do a different ritual tonight."

"They don't have to be done in order?"

"No, they do. We should not complete this ritual until many others have been completed, but...I do not want to wait."

"All right. Which is this one?"

"It is called the Shan'fal. We have already begun it. You have already begun it."

"I did? Is the Shan'fal a backrub?" She giggled a little bit at that, her nose wrinkling up, the way it did anytime he said something dumb. She shifted a little bit beneath him, and Sheridan remembered that she was nearly naked, her breasts pressed against his chest.

"The Shan'fal is an exploration of each other's centers of pleasure." She paused, and Sheridan tried to parse what she had just said. Centers of pleasure. Exploring. Exploring centers of pleasure. That sounded like... "The Shan'fal does not include the actual act of mating," Delenn went on, very serious. "That would only happen should we fully commit to each other, and decide to join our hearts." So by process of elimination, that meant the Shan'fal was everything except actual penetration? That was a lot. That was a whole hell of a lot. He was still working it over in his mind. Delenn's brow wrinkled, and he realized she was waiting for an answer. "John?"

He kissed her, and this time he knew he wasn't going to stop with a kiss. He'd been so careful the last month to respect her boundaries, and it took a little effort to go ahead and touch her the way he'd been wanting to touch her. Considering her story of her last kiss before him, which had been ten years earlier, he had to assume she hadn't done any of this before. Knowing he wasn't going to have to perform took a little of the pressure off, but he still felt a bit worried - he had to make sure this was good for her. He wanted to make it perfect.

He broke off the kiss, moved his way down to her neck and throat. Delenn hummed encouragement, and the hum turned into a moan as he kissed a trail to her breasts. Then he got back up on his knees, straddling her. She looked up at him, confused. He rubbed the tops of her shoulders, from the front this time. Then he worked his way down her sides, back up to her breasts, kneading them gently. When he began to roll her nipples between thumb and forefinger, she let out a moan worthy of a porn star. He tugged the sheet down, massaged her feet, her calves, her thighs. By the time he pulled off her panties she was utterly incoherent, hips rocking upward even before he touched her. There was the slightest resistance as he slid her legs apart, and he paused, waiting.

"Please, John. Please."

He moved until he was laying beside her again, kissing her gently as his fingers began to explore her. She came quickly, with a startled shout that told him that this orgasm had been her first. He pressed his palm against her, gentle pressure, and dropped soft kisses on her temple, her cheek. Her breathing finally slowed some, and she turned to look at him with wide eyes.

"What...what was that?"

"Did you enjoy it?"

She nodded, chest still moving up and down in a rather hypnotic way. Sheridan did his best to keep his eyes on her face. "Minbari do not...that...we don't..." He laughed, drawing her close. Then he journeyed up and down her body again, this time using his lips and tongue where he'd previously used his fingers. This had almost always been just foreplay to him, a prelude. For perhaps the first time, it occurred to him that maybe the Minbari knew what they were doing. Just like when he kissed her, he paid closer attention to each moment. Every sound she made, every time she tossed her head or arched her back.

He got her off three more times, and after the last she started crying - weak, unaffected sobs. Sheridan gathered her up in his arms, held her until the after-affects of the assault on her senses died away. He forgot about his own erection, the ache in his balls, his body's increasingly desperate need to be touched. He thought to rock her to sleep, then sneak off to the head to take care of himself. But then Delenn roused herself, turning her head to kiss wherever her lips would reach. His jaw, his ear, his shoulder. Her hand slipped between their bodies, under the waistband of his shorts, closing around his cock with unerring accuracy. She stroked him like she'd taken a class. How much time passed between the lightning strike and the sound of thunder? About as long as it took him to come, sure for a few seconds that he'd gone blind.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he finally gasped out, when his body was his own to control again. Her hand ran lazily up and down his chest, and she snuggled against him.

"That is what you do in the shower in the morning, is it not?"

"You sly devil. How many times did you watch me?"

"Enough." They had gone to sleep beside each other nearly every single night for the past month, much of that time in each other's arms, but this felt so different. It wasn't just the sex; they were closer now, some indefinable line between them erased. He had started to drift off when Delenn stirred against him.

"What is it?"

"I will be tested tomorrow," she said in a low voice. "Kosh has summoned an Inquisitor."

Sheridan didn't like that word at all, and as he thought about its connotations - torture, death - he found himself completely awake. "Tested for what?"

"The war with the Shadows is coming. I will have an important part to play."

"And Kosh doubts you? I don't see how." She just sighed, and he knew that she was not worried about the test itself, and whatever it entailed, as much as what it signified - that the Vorlon didn't fully trust her. Sheridan couldn't even begin to think why. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No." That steel again, her voice brooking no argument. "When I told you earlier that the test was nothing for you to concern yourself about, I meant it. I just wanted you to know...that I love you."

Sheridan should have felt joy at those words, should have felt warmth bloom through him as he hadn't felt in years and years. Instead he rolled her over on her back, up on an elbow, looming over her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"John?" She brought fingers up to his face, but he shook them off.

"You said that like you're not planning on coming back." Those bottomless gray eyes, staring back at him. Her jaw set. "Delenn. Tell me what's going to happen."

"I plan to come home to you tomorrow. But when an Inquisitor administers a test, there is always a possibility..."

"What? That you'll die?"

"I am not going to die, John. But we can never know what the next day will bring, and I see no reason to conceal my feelings for you, to not tell you what you mean to me." She kissed him, hands clutching at him. "I love you. Say you love me."

"I love you. You know that."

"Then show me."

xxx

Morning explorations. Two fingers buried deep inside of her. _I claim this in the name of John Sheridan._

The natives threw a party on the beach.


	3. After the Inquisition

After the Inquisition

Sheridan hadn't had any action in a long time. He was trying to do the math on just how long it had been - he wasn't sure if that drunken handjob he'd got on shore leave a year and a half ago counted, since she passed out halfway through and he had to finish. Even if it did count, it had still been a long time.

"What are you so fucking happy about?" Ivanova demanded. Sheridan didn't know what she was talking about; he was just supervising the morning docking crunch, and that was never fun. He decided to ignore her, knowing that her curiosity would just build and build until she exploded - and _that_ was fun. He had three ships in a line, nice and neat, so Sheridan let his eyes glaze over a bit and played a Greatest Hits of the night's activities in his head. More than anything else, he remembered the sight of Delenn asleep in his bed, a sight he'd seen plenty of this last month. But last night had been so different. Sheridan hadn't had a home in a long time, just one billet after another; Delenn felt like home.

"I had to break up a fight between a pak'ma'ra and a Drazi at oh-six-hundred," Ivanova went on, timing her mutters to coincide with her walks back and forth behind him; she kept up her one-sided conversation between barking orders at the rest of C and C, barking orders at the ships' captains waiting to dock, and occasionally barking orders at him, even if several minutes passed between one pass and the next. "It was disgusting." Sheridan rubbed his jaw with a grimace; scratchy - he hadn't had the chance to shave this morning. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in late.

"You have no idea how disgusting it was." He continued to ignore what Ivanova said, but he couldn't ignore the looks she was giving him. She thought she was pretty bad-ass, and had most everyone thinking the same thing. He wondered what she'd think if he told her that sometimes she reminded him of his little sister, and that his response to _her _bitching when they were kids was to drop ice cubes down the back of her shirt, or hide bugs in her bed.

"You, of course, weren't answering your link this morning." Ivanova stopped this time, and Sheridan knew he wouldn't be able to ignore her anymore. She would want an explanation. She would be hell to deal with until she got an explanation.

"I had a late night," he allowed.

"Doing what?" Eyes narrowed, hands on her hips. Forget little sister; now she was channeling his mom. He thought about filling her in on the barest of details, but now Corwin was listening. If anyone else overheard, by the end of the day the entire station would know that the Captain had a girlfriend, and then he and Delenn could kiss any chance of privacy goodbye.

"I'll fill you in at the next meeting," he said, voice low, making his eyes look both meaningful and mysterious. Ivanova got an _aha!_ look on her face and nodded that single, curt nod that he decided he liked best about her. She'd think it was some super top secret conspiracy thing, which worked out fine. And, to be honest, he would have to tell at least the command staff about his relationship with Delenn at some point. The next meeting, when they could be assured of privacy, was as good a time as any.

Four new ships came through the gate; Sheridan shook his head, focused again on the task at hand. A moment to note that he had yet to meet Delenn's guest, to wonder if he was in one of these approaching ships, and then he was checking vectors and delta Vs and every other thought slid clean away.

xxx

1888. That's what the man had said. Sebastian. The Inquisitor. Sheridan couldn't quite shake off the goosebumps as he headed for the nearest Babcom. Part of him wanted to laugh about it. Obviously the man was touched in the head, what with that get-up, that slimy accent. But there was something about his bearing, the way he walked, his posture, a few of his word choices, not to mention the fact that he came in on a Vorlon ship, had apparently lived on the Vorlon homeworld, that made Sheridan think that maybe, just maybe, the man was telling the truth.

14B Harrisford Lane, London. He needed to remember that address.

There was a Babcom. He just wanted to talk to her, see her. Something about all of this didn't feel right. He called her quarters, and was both surprised and not at all surprised to see how drawn her face looked, how wary.

"I escorted your guest aboard." He couldn't bring himself to say "Inquisitor." The word sounded ugly, sounded threatening.

"Thank you, John." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"You don't have to go through with this," he blurted. She lifted her chin a tiny bit, a show of defiance, and he hated to see it and loved her for it at the same time.

"This is something I must do."

He nodded, still worried about this whole scenario, but it wasn't his place to interfere. "It took me awhile, but I found you a place that met his specifications. Somewhere private. Grey 19." She just looked at him, gratitude in her eyes.

"I love you."

"Me too," he answered, and ended the call. Stood there for a second, feeling like something was going to happen one way or the other, not knowing what.

xxx

Sheridan left his office at the end of the day feeling a bit worried, but really only in an intellectual way. He'd thrown himself into work, and that little niggle of anxiety melted away. By the time he was ready to call it quits, he remembered Sebastian only as a strange man over-inflated with his own importance. Delenn was probably back in his quarters by now, maybe making dinner, and he would kiss her and she would tell him how it had went, and that would be that. As he headed down the corridor he felt a curious buoyancy. He hadn't felt like this - happy, contented - in years, in _years_. Truth be told, he hadn't felt like this for longer than he'd been a widower. The last few months with Anna hadn't actually been with Anna; he'd been here and she'd been there, and then she'd been here and he'd been there.

Sometimes he couldn't remember what she looked like. Not really. Not the specific way her nose had wrinkled when she laughed, how her hair had curled over her shoulders, that look she would give him when he'd said something both of them knew was a blatant lie. He had loved that look. He thought that maybe he had fallen in love with her the first time he'd seen that look, on maybe their third or fourth date (_and he should remember which date it was, he should remember everything, could there be a worse betrayal than to forget?_), when he'd assured her that no, he couldn't see the stain on her shirt at all, not even when she pointed it out to him. Over dessert, he would tell her to turn a light on when she got dressed, and she would laugh and tell him it was his fault for showing up early, she had been drinking a glass of wine to calm down her nerves and he'd startled her and she'd dribbled it down her front, and the thought that she was still nervous three (or four) dates in made him grin the rest of the date, and when he'd kissed her good night (still grinning) he'd decided that he'd found the woman he was going to have kids with, lots and lots of fat little kids, because God did he love that look.

Later, holding Delenn in their bed, smoothing his hand up and down her back, needing to feel her ribs move against him as she breathed, needing to know she was alive, Sheridan would wonder why he'd thought about Anna as he left his office, as he'd been thinking about how nice it felt to feel nice. He would wonder if it had been a premonition.

"Captain! Captain!" Sheridan turned, and later he would think that he should have connected the urgency and fear in Lennier's voice with what he knew, that he should have immediately felt a stab of terror, but he just wondered what could have happened that would make Lennier, calm, stoic Lennier, sound like that.

"Yes?"

"You have to find Delenn. You have to defy him, defy Kosh."

"What's going on? What is it, Lennier?"

"He's going to kill her."

And then he was running. Not frantic, not in a panic. Mind a blank. Back to his office to get his PPG. Jacket off; he wouldn't need it. Down to the tube, down to Grey Sector, down the hallways all the same. Not worried, not upset. Just feeling like he should have known, that maybe he had known and had chosen to ignore it. Later, in the shower, he would start shaking without realizing it, and Delenn would wrap her arms around him tight, and he would think about how close he'd come to falling off the edge of the abyss again.

The hatch was open. Inviting. The light peeking out into the corridor seemed warm, pleasant even. Sheridan felt, as he stepped over the threshold, that he had been meant to come. That all of this had been orchestrated, from the moment Kosh had told Delenn she would be tested, till this moment right now, entering the room with his PPG extended.

They froze for a moment, Delenn and the man who stood before her. A tableau that differed from oil paintings of persecution and from woodcuts of witch trials only in the details. Delenn's hands bound in front of her. Pain on her face, in the line of her back, in the way she turned her eyes to him; only her eyes, not her head, she always turned to face him straight on, and that's what finally got through to him that this was real.

All he could see of Sebastian was the back of his head, his long, dark coat, and those incongruously shiny shoes. Sheridan pointed his PPG at the back of the head – dark hair, that odd hair-cut, wouldn't matter soon because it would be blown away, burned into nothingness – and spoke. "Let her go."

Sebastian turned his head just a fraction, just enough to let a stray beam of light (_how could he have ever thought this light was pleasant; this was what the light looked like in hell_) hit the side of his face. An arc of cheek, sideburns like he'd only seen in books, the glint of an eye. Here was evil; Sheridan could see that. Why had he not seen it before?

"And what is she to you?"

Later, when he pieced together the clues, when he'd fed the data into the computer, when he'd read about shouts in the night and women found in dark alleyways, their flesh ripped and torn, Sheridan would remember his answer with a shiver. Even as he said it then, the blankness melting away, replaced by a fury he'd last felt when he'd been staring at Morden over an interrogation table, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Even as the word passed over his lips he knew that it would be fuel for the fire, that it could only make things worse. And yet he couldn't lie.

"Everything."

Sebastian turned, revealing more and more of his face, until finally he was looking right at Sheridan. Something about the light, maybe, made him look completely different from the man he'd escorted out of Bay 25. For one second, Sheridan found himself struck by a stray thought. _I'm not afraid of this man. How could I be? What a pleasant face._ It was wrong to call it pleasant, though; it was just banal. Ordinary. Anyone who saw this face would forget it within five minutes.

"Everything? How interesting." Sebastian's voice was cloying, and Sheridan aimed the PPG right between his eyes. He didn't like the man's eyes. They seemed to penetrate right through him, see every flaw and weakness, take his measure at a glance and find him wanting.

"Get out of here, John." Delenn's voice, thick. With tears? Anger? Pain? He couldn't tell. The Inquisitor smiled then, a twist of his lips somehow serpentine and utterly horrible. Sheridan felt with dawning horror the certainty that he would die in this room.

"And what is he to you?" the Inquisitor asked, never taking his eyes off Sheridan, his smile growing wider and wider. Sheridan remembered a summer when he was eight or nine, on his Granddad's little farm (glorified garden, really), exploring the fields and creeks and woods. There'd been a shack buried deep in a thick copse of trees, long abandoned. He had snuck up to it, feeling cold even in the bright sunlight. Peering in through the windows, the glass broken long ago, he had seen that the floor had rotted clean away, exposing an empty dark pit. He'd stared and stared, trying to make out something, anything, hanging off the bottom of the window sill. Was there something there in the corner? A shadow darker than the other shadows, a shape; John became more and more convinced that there was something down there, something with a face, and it was staring back at him just as he was staring down at it.

When the dog had growled behind him, he'd nearly jumped out of his skin. Turning, he saw a mutt, long feral, no more than ten feet away. Thin flanks covered with burrs, scars cutting through its matted fur; it was the most pitiful creature John had ever seen, but whatever natural sympathy he might have felt was overshadowed by the fear, coiling up in his belly. The dog growled again, moving one step closer, a line of drool hanging from its dark, broken fangs. It smiled at him, not a funny dog smile but something intelligent, something malevolent. The smile said, _I am going to kill you, little boy, I am going to kill you and eat you up, and only you and I will know that I'm not really a dog at all_, and then John managed a quivery, high-pitched shout. The dog spooked, turned and ran back into the woods, one last baleful look over its shoulder. John waited a few seconds – one thousand one, one thousand two – and then bolted in the opposite direction, not bothering with the path, heedless of the branches that scraped his face and arms and legs. Straight back to Granddad's, ignoring the stitch in his side, down to the root cellar. John lay down between the rows of jarred preserves, right down on the cool dirt, feeling like the rabbit the hawk had flown over but had not snatched away.

The Inquisitor's question hung in the air, the man still smiling. Sheridan remembered that day in the woods, remembered the dog's smile, because he saw it again on the Inquisitor's face.

"He is the other half of my soul," Delenn answered, and Sheridan could hear the strain in her voice, how hard she fought to keep it steady. Defiance, too, and pride.

The Inquisitor made a sound – _tsk tsk _– and lifted his walking stick a few inches from the floor. Sheridan felt his finger slide down to the trigger, felt himself start to squeeze, but when the stick came down there was a sound like thunder, and a feeling of weightlessness, and the world flashed into a brilliant white light and then disappeared.

xxx

First there was pain. The back of his head, his shoulders. Then there was the strange sensation of being upright. He didn't feel as though he was standing up, didn't actually feel the floor under his feet, but his inner ear didn't usually lie; the quirks of being a pilot. It was dark. But no, he just had his eyes closed.

Sheridan opened his eyes. His arms were stretched out to the side, and he tried to move them, only to realize he was restrained. Something on his wrists, something cold. He flexed, but there was no give.

There was no sign of the Inquisitor. Delenn was across from him, against the wall, huddled in a ball down on the floor. He couldn't see her face. He couldn't see her move, couldn't tell if she was breathing. His own breath seemed stolen away.

"Delenn? Delenn!"

She looked up at him, her chin on her knees. A shadow fell across her face; he couldn't see her eyes. For a half-second he was sure that she was just an illusion, a trick; he didn't know what was looking at him, but it wasn't Delenn. Then she lifted her head a little more, something soft coming over her face, and relief hit him so hard that if he hadn't been chained to the wall he might have fallen to his knees.

Sheridan opened his mouth to speak when a sound rang out in the big open room. A crisp sound, and it seemed to have no echo. Footsteps. Click-clack, click-clack, either to his left or his right; Sheridan straightened his back, determined to remember that there was really nothing to fear. The man had just taken him off-guard; that was all. Kosh had set this whole process in motion; Kosh wouldn't allow any harm to come to either of them. This was just a test.

This was just a test.

"Tell me, Captain," the Inquisitor's voice called, rich and deep. "If I gave you the choice right now, to save this woman's life, or to save the lives of every other soul on this station, what would you choose?"

Sheridan felt his mouth go dry. He understood now, understood this little game entirely. And he feared that this was not a hypothetical question.

"Captain!" The Inquisitor was suddenly beside him, looking at him with furrowed brow and pursed lips. "You are a solider, are you not? Your first and only duty should be to those whom you have taken an oath to protect. And yet you hesitate."

Sheridan felt his brain lock up, felt himself become unable to speak, to even think. The Inquisitor was right. This shouldn't even be a question, shouldn't even be something he needed to consider. If it came down to the quarter of a million people on this station and Delenn, he would obviously have to choose the station. He knew that, could mount no objection to that. Still, he could not speak.

The Inquisitor came to stand before him, something mean and triumphant on his face. Sheridan saw Delenn struggle to her feet behind him. What had this man done to her? What was he still planning to do?

"Is this how you lead, then? When a problem arises, when you are confronted with a veritable dilemma, do you simply freeze and hope that that situation will somehow resolve itself?" Sheridan shook his head, but still could not bring himself to admit out loud that he would sacrifice Delenn, for any reason. "I'm disappointed with you, Captain. I find it hard to believe you could adequately command this station, let alone in the conflict which looms before you."

The Inquisitor turned to the side with a flourish, his long coat whipping out to one side. It seemed such a theatrical gesture, something a villain would do on the stage, and Sheridan felt an unlikely laugh just behind his lips. The laugh vanished as the Inquisitor tapped his walking stick down on the floor, and a long, thin tendril of blue lightning snaked its way across the floor to Delenn. The lightning bloomed into a cloud that enveloped her, crackling and snapping. Sheridan saw her hands clench, her muscles go taut; a grimace on her face, a scream he could not hear.

"I'll kill you," he said, voice low but it echoed throughout the chamber. "I don't care who sent you, I'll kill you."

"Let's not be barbaric. I'm asking you a very simple question and you refuse to answer." The Inquisitor tapped his stick on the floor again. The lightning around Delenn grew brighter, the tendrils thicker; she began to shake ever so slightly. "Admit it! Admit that you would throw everyone else to the wolves, ignore your duties and responsibilities, do whatever you had to do in order to keep her safe."

"Yes. If it were only up to me, then yes." The Inquisitor smiled, a gleam in his eye. "But Delenn wouldn't want that. She's a better person than I am. More noble, more generous. She would sacrifice herself for anyone on this station – not just all of them, not even most of them, but any single person – in a heartbeat. If it came down to it, if I chose her, she would be so disappointed. You're wrong. It's not a simple question. But it is a simple answer."

A look from the Inquisitor then, something he couldn't quite interpret. Surprise, he thought, and respect, and maybe even a hint of pride. Then Sheridan blinked, and the man was gone. The lightning around Delenn was gone. She stood before him, her hands free, and he realized that he could bring his own arms down as well. They stared at each other.

"John…" They met each other halfway, and he wrapped his arms around her, sure he wasn't ever going to let her go.

"What happened?" he whispered into her hair, feeling her tremble slightly against him.

"I don't know." Her hands were on his face, gently sliding down his cheeks; she pulled back and stared at him as though she wasn't entirely sure he was real. "Let's leave this place." He nodded, keeping one arm around her back, the other grabbing her opposite hand, and they slowly made their way to the door. She was walking fairly easy, which surprised him; he was going to take her to Medlab anyway, even if he had to throw her over his shoulder. Before he could ask her how she felt, the click-clack of footsteps sounded outside the chamber, and the Inquisitor met them at the hatch.

"You may go," the man said. "You've passed."

"Passed what?" Delenn asked, her hand pressed over his heart. _Passed the test, of course_, Sheridan thought, and wondered suddenly if the test had been for her at all.

"It is quite easy to sacrifice oneself for another. Easier still to sacrifice oneself for a cause. But to sacrifice someone else? To hold her life in your hands and let it go – that is not easy at all. Sending soldiers out to die while hiding inside a war room is no great trick; anyone can do that. Turning off one's emotions to coldly do what needs to be done is hardly better. But to love, to give oneself over to that most frail and limiting of human emotions, to still be able to make the right choice, to even use that love as the deciding factor, that is rare indeed. I have been searching for both of you for a very long time. At last, my search is over."

He bowed his head shallowly, and then the Inquisitor turned and walked away. They stood, listening, and when his footsteps ceased to be heard it was not because they faded away but because they simply stopped. Sheridan moved them forward, through the open hatch, and they turned to look – the corridor was empty.

xxx

"No." That's all she said, resting her head against his chest in the transport tube. He'd just suggested taking her to Medlab, sounding weak even to his own ears; in truth, he decided he really just wanted to take her back to his quarters and hold her. He couldn't really argue with her, not that he'd ever been able to. So they made their way up to Blue Sector, locked the door behind them. Took a hot shower, climbed into bed.

But he wasn't holding her. She was lying flat on her back, looking at the ceiling, her hands clasped between her breasts. "Does anything hurt still?" he asked, keeping his voice light. She shook her head. "Do you want to talk about it?" For a second he thought she wouldn't answer, or that she would shake her head again. Finally, she turned to look at him.

"I could hear you. Hear your answer." He waited, but she didn't say anything else.

"Was it the wrong answer?" Delenn didn't say anything, looked back at the ceiling. Sheridan watched her, and realized suddenly that she was fighting back tears. "Delenn, what is it?"

"That is not the question that I was asked." _What had she been asked, then?_ "But if Sebastian had, if he had made me choose between you and anyone else, no matter how many, I do not believe I could have answered the same."

"Damn right. I want to live." His attempt to lighten the mood fell completely flat, and he couldn't even muster a smile.

"When you were interrogating Morden, when Kosh and I told you about the Shadows, I was not thinking about your importance in the coming war. I did not stress the absolute danger of any voyage to Z'ha'dum because we would need you as a leader and could not risk your death. I did so because I am selfish, because I could not bear to lose you. Sebastian called love something frail and limiting; for me, I think that to be true. Love makes you stronger. The same cannot be said about me."

Sheridan rolled over, pulled her close. He felt like shit. Not only had she heard him say that he would let her die if enough lives were on the line, when she wouldn't do the same, now she thought she was weak because of it. He was the weak one, he was the one likely to blow up or do something stupid; she was the strong one, the smart one. How could she think anything else?

"If I ever had to make that choice, Delenn, if I actually did it, if I actually chose the station or the battle or the war over you, maybe it would be the right choice. Maybe that's the choice a soldier always has to make. But you need to know that it would be the last choice I would make. There's nothing for me without you."

"John."

"Sebastian was wrong. Love isn't weak, and neither are you." She shook her head against him. "I love you, and that does nothing but make me stronger." Sheridan listened to her breathe for a minute, and then she was tugging him close, kissing him, clutching at him. He wanted to talk to her more - _What did Sebastian ask you? What was all of this about?_ - but right now it seemed more important to make her feel good. He only had one night of exploring under his belt, but based on the slightly-frantic way she was tugging his t-shirt over his head, he thought he would acquit himself pretty well. It didn't seem to matter where he touched her or how - she responded quickly, eagerly.

"Hey, it's okay. There's no rush." He tried to pull back a little, slow things down, but he recognized the look in her eyes, the way she was running her hands over his body. She wanted some "thank God I'm still alive" sex, with which anyone who actively served in EarthForce became acquainted at one point or another. Though she wasn't wanting actual sex, he reminded himself; that was essentially a Minbari wedding, or something along those lines. So when she slipped her hands under his shorts and grabbed his ass, he decided to go along with it; he pulled her nightgown off none-too-gently and flung it aside, then climbed on top of her. She drew in a sharp breath (he hoped it was because she was really turned on, and not because he'd inadvertently knocked the wind out of her), and he devoted himself to kissing her like she'd never dreamed she could be kissed.

But she wasn't content with kissing. She slapped him away, hands on his shoulders. "John. John, please." He reached down to push her legs apart even as he moved down her body, but she was stopping him, actually grabbing a handful of his hair. "No." Okay, she wanted his face up by hers, wanted him close. He moved to the side, slid his hand up the inside of her thigh. She shook her head, hands on his arms, pulling him atop her again.

"Delenn, what is it?"

"I want you inside. Make love to me."

"But you said…"

"I know what I said." He looked down at her, ready to tell her that they should talk about this first, that maybe she didn't want to ignore her culture's traditions, when he got a good look at her eyes, and realized she intended to do nothing of the sort. "You said there was nothing for you without me," she breathed, a trembling hand on his cheek. "Don't you believe the same is true for me?"

Sheridan touched her brow, her cheek, her lips. He wanted to memorize this moment; this night, this right here, he would never forget. He kissed her, a promise, and then slowly, carefully entered her. He could tell it hurt her a bit, and he stopped once to let her get her bearings; she never stopped looking into his eyes, though, never betrayed an instant of regret. He waited, waited, and then began to move inside her, slow, shallow thrusts. After a little bit, she began to move with him, a tear sliding down her cheek.

It didn't last long, though he tried his best. She didn't orgasm, and when he pulled out and moved to help her along with his hand, she just wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him back down against her.

"Delenn-"

"Be quiet." So he did, and she buried her face in his neck and breathed him in. He let her hold him, and when she cried it was only for a little while, and the tears passed quickly. "Now we belong to each other," she said, letting him go, though he didn't stray far.

"I could have told you that the first day I saw you."

"Do humans find it romantic to lie about such things?" But he could hear the smile in her words, and hugged her close, as close as he could without breaking her ribs. He was well on his way to dozing when she stirred a little, and it took him a second to realize what she was saying.

"Sebastian asked me if I would sacrifice myself, if it came down to it, if that is what it would take to ensure we won the war. If I would be willing to die for the cause, or if I believed myself to be so important that the war could not be won without me." Sheridan thought, not liking the shiver that started at the small of his back. "And he asked you if you would sacrifice me, if you would let me die in order to save everyone else. John. Do you think…"

He didn't want her to continue, didn't want her to finish the question, even though he already knew what it was.

"Do you think Kosh knows something about how the war will play out? Do you think he already knows what my part will be?"

"No. The Inquisitor was called for you. Kosh wanted to make sure that you were willing to do whatever it takes to win, that's all. That son of a bitch just decided to fuck with me when I showed up and interfered in his little game. That's all, Delenn." He didn't believe a word of it, not a single word, but he wasn't going to tell her that.

He didn't think she believed him either, and he could feel the tension in her limbs as he settled onto his back, holding her against his chest. It was a long time before either of them fell asleep, and Sheridan spent the hours thinking about the war to come. Kosh had made sure to intervene, lest Sheridan tip their hand to the Shadows; the Vorlon and Delenn had also made sure he wouldn't head off to Z'ha'dum. The implication, at least to his mind, was that he was indispensible. And yet Kosh seemed to be prepared to use Delenn as some kind of pawn – and the Inquisition's purpose had been to make sure that both of them would go along with it, believing it to be the right thing to do.

Sheridan thought she might have gone to sleep. Her breathing had evened out, at any rate. He absently smoothed his hand over her hair, still a little damp, trying to remember his schedule for tomorrow. He'd cancel a meeting or two if he needed to; he and Kosh were going to have a nice little chat.

Because he'd changed his mind. He wouldn't give Delenn up, not for any war, not even if the whole universe stood on the brink. Let them all rot.


End file.
